


It’s Good to Know Who You Are

by theoldgods



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Background Relationships, Book 4: A Feast for Crows, Coming In Pants, Frottage, Grief/Mourning, Groping, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Horseback Riding, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jousting, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Missing Scene, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Rough Sex, Stable Sex, Topping from the Bottom, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:48:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4607349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoldgods/pseuds/theoldgods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loras and Jaime are self-absorbed, headstrong, rebellious, and entirely dismissive of one another.</p><p>Loras and Jaime are also ruled by emotions deeper than just narcissism and flippant disrespect of others, as Jaime is forced to remember when an attempt at bringing his younger Kingsguard brother to heel turns into something a little more emotional and explosive than intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It’s Good to Know Who You Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snack_size](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snack_size/gifts).



> The dubcon warning is for a bit of borderline hatesex/sex as "discipline" with some light power and pain play, just so all are aware. There's also a bit of borderline homophobic language/concepts (mostly calling a man a "whore" for, well, enjoying sex with other men).
> 
> There's also a brief moment that could be considered Brienne/Jaime, though it's not expanded upon at all--not enough to warrant tagging and annoying people actually looking for Brienne/Jaime content, but just as a head's up.

He had long ago accepted that Loras Tyrell on horseback with his lance was a fearsome sight even in the practice lanes. Jaime would never be a true lancer, had always been built for sword more than horse, and despite his love of horses he could not muster up the connection Loras seemed to have with his mounts (including, he remembered with a smirk, trusting a mare in heat in competition).

That had been an easier time, one where Jaime still had his sword hand and where Loras’s headstrong arrogance had not yet gained the touch of weariness he showed everywhere now—except for on horseback.

 _It’s like there never was a Renly at all,_ Jaime thought, watching Loras fly down the tilting lane at Red Ronnet Connington, who continued to challenge the Knight of Flowers despite the fact that each encounter left him coated in dirt. _Like he’s still some green squire with more courage than sense, and entirely too much talent._ The sight made him shift uncomfortably as a frisson of pleasure ran down his spine.

Ronnet ended their first pass on the ground. Loras whooped like a pageboy unseating his opponent for the first time as he reached the end of the lane and turned his mount back toward the starting position.

“Not tired of flying, Ser Griffin?”

Ronnet ripped off his helmet to reveal a face as red as his sigil.

“My seat was poor, Ser Loras.”

“Aye, and it was so yesterday, and the day before.” Loras considered their gaggle of spectators for a moment before shrugging and dismounting. “You’ll need a good bath to see to those bruises, Ser Ronnet. Mayhaps a new saddle might help, as well.”

The stableboys standing in the crowd gasped. Jaime rolled his eyes and shifted his legs once again.

“That is insolent, Ser Loras,” Humfrey Swyft remarked, running his fingers along the visor of his own helm.

Loras’s face had grown heavier as he stood on solid ground. He glanced back at Ronnet struggling to his feet and smiled, sickly pale and insincere.

“Forgive me, Ser Ronnet; I find the sun rather too strong this morning.”

 _Yes,_ Jaime thought as Loras led his mount back toward the stables, _the late autumn sun is deadlier than it has been for mayhaps an entire day._

* * *

Loras was still withdrawn when Jaime entered the stable and stood watching him groom his mount. His hands were calm and steady nonetheless as he combed through the courser’s mane and murmured into its ear in a musical voice too low-pitched for sense but strong enough to prick the hair on the back of Jaime’s neck.

“You rode fast and foolish, Ser Loras,” Jaime remarked, approaching the stall and leaning against its gate.

He continued his grooming, though his baleful eyes flickered in Jaime’s direction.

“I rode strong and confident, my lord.”

“Just as I said.”

Loras lowered his brush. “Have I displeased? Forgive me if I am short, my lord; as I told Ser Ronnet, the sun—”

“Mayhaps for an autumn day you’re right, but I have known you to ride for far longer in far worse.” Jaime’s stump throbbed anew at just the memory of riding and jousting. “The Hand’s Tourney—”

“A thousand years ago.” Loras eyed his mount once more before reaching for its blanket. “A different lifetime, where we all were whole.”

“You think I don’t know that, with my missing hand? I will never be able to thrust you into the dirt as you deserve, Ser Loras. Who will humble you in the lists now?”

Loras’s mouth quirked as he spread the blanket across the horse’s back. “What is it that the septons say, a man may humble himself as sure as any other? Mayhaps in thirty years’ time I will fall off my own mount of age, if the Warrior has not taken me before then.”

Jaime bit his lip. “The Warrior would be a better death than any of us deserve.”

“He takes only the best,” Loras agreed, giving his horse a final pat before heading for the gate and stopping to look into Jaime’s eyes. A warmth grew in Jaime’s bowels as they held glances. “I will do my best to be worthy of him when he comes. May I pass, my lord?”

“The sun will continue to shine too hot until our cursed winter finally arrives. Will you be short with your comrades the rest of the season?”

Loras laughed, a low and bitter sound. “I have no comrades.”

“You have a commander.” Jaime covered the stall gate latch with his good hand lest Loras try to force it. “You have a king. You have six brothers.”

The hair falling across Loras’s face stirred in a bit of breeze. When Loras pushed the curls aside, his dark eyes were large and overbright in the gloom of the stable.

“Forgive me, Lord Commander. I am not accustomed to having my time with my mounts disturbed.” Loras reached for the latch.

Jaime tightened his grip. “And the Kingsguard is not accustomed to bitterness and discord. Not while I have a nephew to keep safe, seeing as how we failed his brother. I have said before that this cannot continue, that whatever troubles we have, they will stay away.”

Loras’s face was growing red. “And _I_ said I would serve, my lord, so long as I am not made to betray with word or deed.”

“Pray tell how you betray your blessed Renly by not being a miserable fool making life difficult for all.”

Loras looked away. Jaime’s heart thudded in his chest at the despair Loras wore around himself as a cloak, twining about his bones like the worst kind of spurned grief.

“Renly the king and Renly the man you loved—” Loras shifted; Jaime reached out with his stump to brush his chin, watching as the boy shuddered and met his gaze again “—they are both dead and gone. As are my mother and my father, my traitorous brother so far as I can bring myself to care, and the sister I thought I knew. You are not the only bright fool to have your heart broken by this war or any other. I was young and headstrong and brilliant myself not so very long ago, yet time still finds a way to break me.”

“I have no intention of waiting to lose my hand to cowardly mercenaries, my lord.” Loras’s voice was the respectful side of what Jaime might call a hiss, his eyes wet though his cheeks remained dry. “I will be remembered in songs, the same as you and him, before age can take me. The same as him.”

“Shall I have them put your bones alongside his at Storm’s End, Ser Loras?”

Loras sneered, a sharp and wet sound. “Do as you please, my lord. Do as my grandmother makes your sister do. I have said my goodbyes and will wear them for the rest of my days.”

“May they be short,” Jaime whispered, and then laughed. Loras looked up at the ceiling of the stall, his own mouth bending into a wavering smile.

“May I pass, Lord Commander? Must I pay some further toll of dignity?”

Cersei appeared in Jaime’s head, buxom and nude, kneeling to take him into her mouth. He blinked away the vision.

“I know of nothing else to make you pay today, Ser Loras.” Jaime released the gate and stepped back. Loras opened it and slipped through.

“Thank you, my lord,” he murmured as he passed, drawing a hand along Jaime’s arse.

Jaime grabbed Loras’s wrist as sweat dripped down the small of his back. “ _That_ is what you offer, fool?” His skin burned where Loras had touched his breeches.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Loras whispered. His eyes were dancing beneath the slowly drying film of tears. “I forget myself.”

Jaime pressed Loras into the stable wall, shifting to align their hips and tightening his grip on Loras’s wrist. Loras whimpered pleasingly beneath his weight.

“You fucking fool, I could have your head for indecency.”

“Truly, I forgot who I was with, my lord,” Loras whispered, arching his back into Jaime’s cock, which was, to his vague horror, beginning to fill.

“Remind you of Lord Stag, do I?”

“He was much prettier than you or me.”

Jaime’s cock was actually hard beneath his breeches, he realized. _Lean back and let him go_ , he told himself. _Give him the most wretched duty for a month for his impertinence_.

Instead he thrust forward until Loras’s head was firmly pressed against the wall, hopefully dragging a splinter or two into that fresh, arrogant face.

“I am the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” he whispered into Loras’s ear. “Do not disrespect me again. Do not lay your hands on any part of me again.” _Lest I challenge you_ , he nearly added, before his stump throbbed to remind him of just how useless he would forever be against this whole, talented jackanapes. “Do you understand?”

Loras’s voice was muted against the wall; Jaime released him just enough to free his mouth and dodged the bit of wood Loras spat in his direction.

“I said, do you understand?”

Loras inserted his arsecheeks against Jaime’s cock once more.

“Whore.” Jaime reached forward to grab at Loras’s cock and pinched until he yelped softly. His body weight would have to anchor them, occupied as his good hand now was. “Such a whore.”

Loras braced his arms against the wall. His voice, when he spoke, was breathy. “Aye, my lord, we all have our sins.”

Jaime shoved another image of Cersei out of his mind and twisted—less a pinch, more a stroke through Loras’s breeches. Loras muffled a moan into his arm. “As if I would put my skin on you. You don’t deserve that.”

“What do I deserve?”

“Pain. Discomfort.” Jaime rubbed his stump along Loras’s chin once more, smiling as he shuddered. “Discipline.”

“I swear—” Loras howled softly as Jaime continued stroking “—I swear I’ll behave, Lord Commander.”

“Do you now?” Jaime sped up, adding light twists each time he brushed the head, marveling internally at how Loras’s body writhed against his and the heat prickling in his own breeches. “You’ll behave once you’ve soiled your pants like a little pageboy.”

“Of course, my lord.” Loras pressed his face back against the rough wood of the wall, and Jaime assisted him with the pressure, smiling grimly as he watched a splinter dig into his chin. “’Course.”

Jaime rocked up against him, dragging his own sheathed cock up and down the cleft of Loras’s arse. He had hardly touched himself and already the corners of his vision were beginning to fade into whiteness. He closed his eyes for a moment and dragged his cock more firmly, seeking friction, trying to picture Cersei riding him in the sept. The imaginary figure in his lap flickered from Brienne the Beauty’s large body to Cersei’s white shoulders and back again before settling on Loras’s slim, muscled back.

A whimper beneath him brought his attention back to the present as warmth soaked his good hand. He dug it all the harder against Loras’s twitching cock and let his stump fall across Loras’s shoulders as, with a final, frantic rut, he came in a short, breathless torrent of white.

“I’ve had better,” he muttered to Loras once his vision returned, removing both of his arms and taking a step back.

Loras was peeling himself off the wall and attempting to readjust his breeches. “I’ve lasted longer than that with my own hands and vivid memories.”

Jaime leaned back in, dragging fingers through Loras’s hair until his nails bit into scalp. “I have no skill with men. I am no boy whore.”

Loras’s grin was wicked, even with Jaime’s grip against the top of his head. “Exciting, isn’t it, my lord?”

“Whore,” Jaime murmured again. Loras continued to smile, softly and yet almost sadly, his face as sneeringly content as any cat’s. “Renly’s little rose indeed.”

“Aye,” Loras whispered, his face falling some. “It’s good to know who you are, Lord Commander, ser.”

Jaime withdrew completely, wiping his sweaty good hand against his thighs. Loras leaned contemplatively against the stable wall, combing his own fingers through his curls to set them back to rights. Jaime swallowed and headed for the stable exit.

“You have the king at sunset,” he called over his shoulder, turning back to catch sight of his brother in arms.

Loras raised an eyebrow. “As you say. Lord Commander.”

_Yes, you green pup. I am the Lord Commander._

_I am the Lord Commander_ , Jaime told himself as he stepped out into the midday sunshine. _Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard._

_I am the Lord Commander..._


End file.
